The morning sun was streaming through the window when I woke. We must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night, I thought. I was alone in the big bed, and as I stretched out my naked body I experienced that wonderful feeling of perfect well-being that comes to a girl who has slept well after being comprehensively fucked. I didn’t remember much about the previous evening, but it had obviously been really good.

I became aware of a pleasant funky smell. I stroked my body and investigated a slight itchiness on my face. I discovered that I was still decorated with great splashes of dried cum on my mouth, breasts and tummy. Ah, that sort of evening, was it? Lovely. Memories began to return. I had no idea where I was, but I remembered being brought to a party. I was the only girl among twelve or fifteen men, and I had been annoyed with my date for not warning me. Not that I dislike being the only girl – very much not! – but I like to prepare myself. I had been expecting the free-flowing sex of a regular party, starting with hinting and teasing, wearing a pretty and flirty dress, coyly allowing the men to persuade me to take it off to reveal carefully chosen panties which hid almost nothing, then at last giving way to their – and my! – lust, making my choice and giving him the freedom of each love-hole in turn, followed perhaps by pretty lesbian displays with other girls for variety and to stimulate the watching men.

But last night, I now remembered, gentle but firm hands had stripped me naked almost as soon as I came in through the door. That had been lovely, of course, but I hoped my pretty dress had been carefully looked after – it was a favourite of mine. Men tend to forget these things! I wasn’t concerned about my long gold gloves and tiny gold side-tie panties. They weren’t intended to last long and were probably now part of some man’s souvenir collection. Well, he was welcome to them. I bought my gloves and my sexy panties in quantity from a shop in Shinjuku where I was a welcome customer and often met my girl-friends, all of us choosing the clothes we needed for the lovely world of endless party sex that we enjoyed so much.

I sat up in bed, my arms round my knees. The room looked surprisingly tidy, considering what must have happened there only a few hours ago. I could see my shoes lying on the floor near the bed: high-heeled gold shoes with long plaited thongs which wound tightly round my calves. Sitting up, I felt a beautiful warmth in my anal passage accompanied by a deep unreachable itch. So my arse had had its share of attention! Suppose there had been fifteen men there. At least, I thought, trying to remember. Suppose each one came three times, entering my arse, pussy and mouth even if they chose to pull out at the last moment and anoint me with their cum. Forty-five fucks. Pretty good. No wonder my body felt so pampered and – for the moment at least – well satisfied.

I rolled to the edge of the bed, swung my legs over and stood up. I needed a shower. It was a shame to wash off all the lovely cum, but there was plenty more where that came from! It was Saturday, so no office to bother about. And there were lots of sex-parties every Saturday in Tokyo. Somebody would take me to one. It might not be another lovely gang-bang, but I should get plenty of fucking. Especially up my arse, I thought: that deep tickle was showing no sign of leaving me in peace and I knew only one way of scratching it. Of course relieving it would, soon enough, only make it tickle me again even more maddeningly – but that was the wonderful thing about sex: the more you had, the more you wanted … Still, forty-five fucks was a pretty good personal best for the moment.

I looked out of the window. I was quite high up: maybe on the fifth or sixth floor of a block. All I could see was a typically anonymous Japanese cityscape, with no clue as to where exactly in Tokyo I was. It was quite an adventure to be alone in an unknown apartment, with no clothes. Well, the only thing to do was go along with the adventure and see what happened. Meanwhile I needed that shower.

There was a bathroom off the bedroom, with a very modern shower equipped with different sprays – not just the simple hand-shower on a bracket so usual in Japan. I enjoyed myself, washing my body with expensive scented soap and tickling myself pleasurably with the variable showers. Then I stepped out and dried myself with one of the enormous fluffy towels provided. The bathroom was remarkably well equipped, with a range of lotions and sprays. Looking through the drawers I found a good collection of feminine make-up – almost as good as if I’d chosen it myself. So I sat in front of the big mirror and made up my face carefully. I rather overdid the lip-gloss, naughtily adding a touch to my nipples as well: but why not? I had no clothes to show myself off with, so must make myself as pretty as I could with what was available. I erected my nipples to the maximum by pinching them hard, relishing the sharp pleasure that flooded through me. “Oh, please stop! Please don’t hurt me!” I murmured piteously to my reflection in the mirror, practising; then scented my breasts, pussy and arsehole, trimmed a few stray hairs from the crisp curls of my cunt-hair, and wandered back to the bedroom.

I tidied up a little, straightening the sheets of the bed. Then I put on my pretty gold shoes, easing my feet onto the curved soles and tying the plaited thongs smoothly round my ankles and lower calves. There is something special about putting on high-heeled shoes: every girl knows that. The change in posture, the teetering walk, have a strange effect on one’s sexual feelings. Of course one can feel full of desire when barefoot; but being forced to stand and walk on tiptoe prepares you for sex in a unique way. Have you noticed that when you come your calf muscles contract, making you point your toes? I guess taking up that position artificially makes some bit of your mind believe orgasm is imminent, and flood you with sexy feelings. Why else do we girls so love wearing high-heels, and compete with each other to wear the highest, prettiest and most impractical? Of course, seeing a girl wear shoes like that drives men wild with desire, but that isn’t the only reason we like wearing them.

Teetering across the room on my heels, and enjoying the familiar feelings they gave me, I came to a dressing-table in one corner. I had hardly noticed it before, being preoccupied with more urgent needs, but now I sat down before it and looked at myself in the mirror. Nice; but my hair was still damp and flat from the shower. Without thinking I picked up a brush and attended to it. The table, like the bathroom, was well equipped: there were brushes, combs, cotton-balls and tissues, all neatly arranged in little trays and boxes. I opened the drawers. There was more make-up: I touched up my earlier work, and daringly added more gloss to my hard nipples. In one drawer there was a selection of jewellery; but nowhere were there any clothes – not even the skimpiest panties or bras. Oh, well. From the jewellery drawer I selected a pair of long dangling earrings. They looked nice on me, I thought. There was an elaborate metal chain belt with many little ornaments suspended from it: it looked meant to go with the earrings, so I tried it on. It fitted snugly round my waist. I couldn’t really see the effect in the dressing-table mirror, so I went back to the bathroom to look at myself in the big mirrors there. Very nice indeed. Somehow I felt that the mysterious adventure I had embarked on required me to look my best; and as no clothes were provided I was being tested to see what I could do with what there was. Before leaving the bathroom I couldn’t resist touching up my make-up yet again and spraying a little more perfume onto my breasts, cunt and arse. It tickled me pleasantly as it evaporated, so I did it again. Well, I liked the effect; and I hoped this attention to the finer details of my appearance would please whoever owned the bed I had been sleeping in.

I realised I was hungry and badly wanted some breakfast. Surely there must be food in this apartment somewhere – even if there were no clothes for a girl to wear! I tried the bedroom door. Somehow I had imagined that in this adventure the door would be locked and that I was at the mercy of whoever had brought me here. Many of the stories in the manga cartoon magazines my colleagues and I giggled over at the office concerned beautiful heroines imprisoned by evil (and fantastically well-hung) villains. But the door opened easily. I teetered along the corridor on my high-heels: at the end was a staircase leading down. So this was a duplex apartment. Up the stairs came a tantalising aroma of coffee – and the sound of voices.

So down I went, following the smell of coffee. I opened a door and found myself in a large, very modern kitchen. Seated at the table eating breakfast were two men, a gaijin foreigner and a Japanese.

“Excuse me,” I said as I entered.

They looked at me, startled. The gaijin stood up; the Japanese, nonplussed at this demonstration of western courtesy, tried to stand up too, knocked over his chair, bent over and picked it up, and sat down on it again firmly. I couldn’t help giggling.

“Good morning Yuri-san,” said the gaijin. “I hope you slept well after all your hard work last night. You are looking very fresh and beautiful today, if I may say so.”

I blushed and stammered. Japanese men do not compliment girls on their appearance; I know that it is normal in the West but I always find it difficult to respond gracefully. The gaijin noticed my embarrassment and quickly changed the subject.

“You must be hungry. Won’t you join us for breakfast?”

Without waiting he brought up a third chair. Like the others it was plastic-covered: looking appreciatively at my nudity, he produced a freshly laundered kitchen-cloth from a drawer and spread it neatly over the seat.

“I expect you’ll find that more comfortable,” he said with a smile as I sat down.

I felt some apology was needed – even if it was really for him and his friend to apologise to me for not providing even minimal clothes. On the other hand, had I not come to this apartment dressed only in a revealing dress with gloves and highly disposable stripper panties? Had I any right to expect these men to supply what I had not thought it necessary to bring myself? How complicated it all was, and how difficult to know what was expected of me!

“Thank you,” I said. “You are very kind. But I am sorry to appear, you know, like this …” I sketched a gesture over my naked breasts as I sat at the table.

“Not at all! You look very nice, and comfortable. Anyway, girls here usually …”

I think he was going on to say, “Girls here usually don’t wear clothes,” but decided not to press the point.

“My name is Peter,” he said. “I come from England but I live in Japan. I am a photographer and this is my apartment. You are very welcome here.”

“Thank you. I am sorry to cause you so much trouble …”

We bowed to each other. Only afterwards did it occur to me that all this formality was a bit absurd between a totally nude girl and a man who had (I hoped) fucked her several times the previous evening.

“And this is my colleague Osamu.”

I bowed again, but the Japanese just grunted.

“Now I must get you something to eat,” Peter said.

He quickly made me a delicious bowl of instant mizushiru, followed by several slices of toast.

“Coffee or Japanese tea?”

“Coffee,” I said, my mouth rather full of toast and imported English marmalade, adding “It smells so good. I smelt it upstairs.”

“Upstairs. Oh, yes. I hope you found the bed comfortable?”

“Yes, very. Though I slept so well I hardly noticed.”

“And I hope you found everything you wanted? You must let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more agreeable.”

The assumption behind that worried me.

“Oh, but I’m afraid I can’t …”

He swept my protests aside. Then I realised that I had missed the opportunity to say that the one thing I didn’t have and must have, if I was to leave this apartment at my own will, was clothes.

“Did you enjoy the party last night?”

“Oh, yes!” I said, twisting my legs together and feeling my skin tingle at the memory.

“You weren’t worried at being the only girl? For a moment I thought you might be.”

“No, no … it was a surprise of course … but a lovely surprise!” I added quickly, so as not to seem ungrateful for all the nice things that had been done to me. “Just me and … how many of you were there? About fifteen?”

“We were sixteen, weren’t we, Osamu-san? Oh no, Jirō had to cancel at the last minute so we were exactly fifteen.” He smiled at me encouragingly. “And you were just splendid!”

I blushed and concentrated on stirring my coffee.

“How many times did you … er … I mean …” I asked shyly.

“Have you?”

“Yes. Three times each?”

“Oh, that certainly. And some of us managed to have you four times. I certainly did! I just couldn’t resist it, you were so good!”

“So fifteen men, three times each …” I suggested tentatively.

“And a few more,” he said firmly. “Fifty fucks, I’d say. Pretty good, eh?”

“Fifty …”

“At least.”

I looked up at him at last. I felt shy, but proud.

“Well, that is certainly my personal best.”

“Good for you! But I hope we can help you improve on that soon enough.”

Always there was this implication that I had somehow agreed to surrender my freedom of action to them. But maybe that might have its advantages, a corner of my mind suggested treacherously.

“I think I ought to be going soon,” I said in a firm voice – or what I hoped would sound firm. The trouble was I didn’t really want to go. A sort of compromise occurred to me. “Or is Bob coming to collect me?”

Bob Williams was the date who had brought me to this apartment and launched me on my strange adventure.

“Bob? Oh, I think Bob has handed you over to us to look after,” said Peter.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Should I be angry with Bob? But he wasn’t there to be angry with, and Peter had been very nice to me. Perhaps there was a good explanation for whatever arrangement the two men had made.

“Wouldn’t you like to see the video now?”

“You mean – from last night?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. Come to the living-room and I’ll show you. It’s rather good. Needs editing, of course, but …”

I stood up obediently, washed my sticky fingers under the kitchen tap, and let him conduct me along the corridor to the living-room. Osamu trailed along behind. It was a big room and, so far as I could work out, directly under the big bedroom where I had spent the night. Perhaps the two floors had once been separate apartments, and that bedroom had been designed as the living-room for the one upstairs.

There was a large flat-screen television fixed to one wall, and a big sofa and two armchairs arranged in front of it. Osamu took an armchair: that seemed to be his routine. Peter guided me to the right end of the sofa. It was covered in black leather, which felt wonderfully arousing against my nakedness. Peter sat down beside me and fiddled with a remote control.

The video was certainly well made. There were transitional passages which needed to be edited out: obviously when one man had his turn with me he passed the camera to another, and the scene veered around crazily until the next man had it under control. But otherwise the picture was sharp and well-focussed. The first shot showed me entering the living-room in my pretty clothes a few steps ahead of Bob. I was unconsciously making “I want to be touched” gestures: tossing back my long hair, stroking my breasts and tummy, pulling up my gold gloves and needlessly adjusting the short skirt of my party dress. Then the camera caught my face as I took in the scene awaiting me: most of the men were already naked, their cocks swelling to firm erections as they saw me. I turned back to Bob for a moment, obviously annoyed with him; then my eyes returned to the delights awaiting me. Memory came flooding back. Soon I was surrounded by a forest of erect cocks.

Once my dress had vanished, the camera moved round to show my back, the tiny cords of the g-string hidden in the crack of my arse so that I was effectively naked. Hands reached out and tenderly removed the sweet little panty altogether, while my hands stretched out of their own will to stroke the nearest cocks. Soon I was removing my long gold gloves, not wanting them to be soiled in the cum-fest in store for me.

As the scene progressed I snuggled back more and more into Peter’s arms while his hands wandered delightfully over my nude body, his fingers caressing my nipples and occasionally playing with the decorations on my metal belt. I was blushing, squealing, covering my face with my hands, not wanting – and yet wanting so much – to see what was happening to me on the screen. Not of course that I was ashamed or anything silly like that. The Gods gave us girls beauty so that men would desire us, and bodies perfectly designed for giving and receiving intense pleasure by stroking and petting and – above all – by penetration of our three holes: our soft mouths with their flexible tongues, our deep juicy cunts, and our tight muscular arseholes. Not to show off our teasing beauty, not to receive into our love-holes the male cocks perfectly designed by the same Gods to fit into them, would be an insult to their divine generosity. If I was giggling and burying my face in Peter’s chest it was because the intense memory of last night’s pleasure, the beautiful images of cock after cock plunging joyfully into me, and the tingling lust surging through me once again were almost too much happiness to bear. (Also, of course, snuggling up to Peter like that made certain that he was as keen to have me again as I was eager to be fucked.)

I wanted to tuck my feet under me and sit even closer to Peter, but was concerned that my sharp heels would damage the leather of the sofa. “Help me take my shoes off,” I whispered to him, and he at once slid to the floor, his back now to the screen, and gently unwound the thongs round my calves and ankles. As he removed each shoe he tenderly sucked and kissed my toes one by one, sliding his tongue between them and making me giggle. As I have just said, a girl’s main joy comes from having her love-holes penetrated, but the Gods have made all of her body delightfully sensitive in different ways and finding new places to be made love to is such fun! It took Peter quite a while to finish with my toes – I was glad I had taken the trouble to paint them prettily in preparation for last night’s party – and when we were both concentrating on the screen again it showed me being carried out of the living-room. The shots of me being taken upstairs were just a blur of confused images – perhaps no one was really in charge of the camera just then – but soon I could be seen lying on the big bed while those lovers who still had enough cum in their balls were fucking me hard, coming inside my holes or pulling out at the last moment to beautify my face and breasts with their thick juice. I could almost smell it from the screen: the aroma and taste of cum are incredibly erotic, as every experienced girl knows. At last the video ended: the screen flickered with zigzag lines and then turned an even blue.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I slid to the ground in front of Peter and quickly helped him remove his jeans and underpants. I looked up for a moment and saw Osamu watching me. I smiled at him and patted the vacant place on the sofa. Soon I was sucking and stroking their two splendidly erect cocks in turn, but I wanted more than that: the tickle deep in my arsehole was giving me no peace. I forced myself to wait a little longer, and gave Osamu’s cock plenty of lubrication. Then I emptied my mouth, and held carefully in my fingers the beautiful rod of flesh which alone could give me the relief I longed for.

“Please fuck my arse. Oh, please!” I said to Osamu in the high, little-girl voice appropriate for a Japanese girl asking a favour from a Japanese man. “And Peter, please come in my mouth. Don’t pull out or anything: I want to enjoy every drop of it.”

Osamu swaggered round to kneel behind me, and soon I felt his thick cock, lubricated with my saliva, slowly penetrating my anus. Oh, how good it felt as it pushed its way firmly up inside me, giving peace – for a little while – to the tight tube so over-stimulated by the previous evening’s use.

“Oh, wonderful! Oh, fantastic!” I said, still in my little-girl voice, preening his sexuality so that he could pleasure mine all the more. “Deeper, please – oh, deeper! Oh, you’re so good!”

Then I turned back to Peter, sucking and licking him and tickling his heavy balls with the tips of my long nails. He was already groaning with lust and begging me not to stop, yet not to force him to come too quickly. Osamu was now deep inside my arse, pulling out a little and slamming back in, while I pushed ecstatically against his crotch and gripped his beautiful length as tightly as I could.

At last we climaxed together, or as nearly together as made no difference. Peter’s creamy cum burst into my mouth and throat just as I felt Osamu’s cock thicken as his sperm forced its way up my tight passage. I held Peter’s erection with my fingers as I opened my mouth to show him how full it was, swallowed some of it down, then returned to sucking the final drops from him. At the other end of me Osamu began to lose his erection and slip out of me. Peter thanked me tenderly, while Osamu slouched off without a word and wiped himself on tissues from a box on a side-table.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Peter. “He never says much. But I thought you were wonderful.”

“I’m not worrying,” I said. “Japanese men are like that. Gaijin are different.”

“Yes, but when you were so great …”

“Now you’re the one who’s worrying. It’s natural. Gaijin lovers treat me like a lady when they fuck me, and I love that. Osamu-san isn’t a gaijin so he treats me like a whore, and I love that too. But I must go and wash. I’m leaking. And perhaps you should too – you’ve got lipstick on your cock,” I added with a giggle.

“There’s a bathroom on this floor. Let me show you.”

“I’ll find it.”

It was the same as the one I had used upstairs, but not so well equipped. When I had finished washing, I put my head round the living-room door to say, “I’m just going upstairs to fix my make-up.”

“Fine. Do it nicely,” Peter said.

What an odd thing to say, I thought, as I ran up the stairs in my bare feet. Of course I would do it nicely! But it was worth knowing that he liked his girls well made-up. I took trouble over it, and added some perfume. I hoped he liked that too. Then I found that, after all the coffee I had drunk, I needed to pee. When it was too late, I wondered if I should have held some back: perhaps Peter’s sexual tastes included having a girl pee in his mouth? Well, there would be other opportunities to check on that. When I had finished I cleaned myself carefully with one of the wet-wipes provided, then scented myself again.

Downstairs, Peter was waiting for me in the living-room. He was dressed, and there was no sign of Osamu. I sat on the sofa again: I wasn’t sure what else to do.

“Let me help you put your shoes on,” said Peter.

He knelt before me again and took his time over fitting my feet into the high-heels, stroking and kissing them gently as he did so and tying the thongs firmly round my ankles and legs. Once again I felt the surge of desire that comes from the teetering posture forced on a girl by her heels.

“Do you like girls’ shoes very much?” I asked.

“Oh yes! And these are such beautiful shoes, and the heels are so delightfully high, and your feet are so small and pretty … I could say I’m a foot fetishist, I love kissing girls’ feet – but then there’s no part of a girl I don’t love kissing!”

He was kneeling in front of me with his hands on my thighs, lightly holding them apart. He lowered his head and began to kiss my knees, gradually moving his mouth upwards along my thighs. His hands moved up too, till they were embracing my hips. He pulled me forward till my bottom was only just resting on the edge of the couch. His lips were now kissing the very tops of my thighs and his tongue began to explore the sensitive folds on either side of my crotch. He kissed my pussy hair, breathed deeply and looked up.

“Lovely scent, Yuri-san,” he said. “I do like a girl to make her pussy smell sweet.”

“I’m glad …”

“Do you like the taste of cum?”

“What a silly question! Of course I do!”

“Well, I adore the taste of pussy-juice. And it’s my turn now …”

I let out a gasp of pleasure as he suddenly buried his mouth in my cunt and began to lick and kiss its lips, occasionally flicking his tongue upwards to tease my clit. I could tell at once he was an expert, and knew exactly how to pleasure a girl’s pussy. Love-juice was beginning to pour from inside my cunt. He looked up a moment.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful, Yuri-san! The best pussy-juice I ever tasted! And so much! You are wonderful!” He slurped again, then continued: “You know, I was here a lot last night. I fucked all your three holes, of course, like we all did …” Another pause, another quick taste from my dripping cunt. “… But at the end, after you’d showered and perhaps thought it was all over, then I just had to come back here and suck you and fuck you all over again. And I wasn’t the only one who just couldn’t stop!”

“I’m so glad …” I murmured, remembering the dried splashes of cum I had found on my face and breasts, left by admirers who had loved me all over again when the others had stopped.

Now he was sucking me in earnest, my cunt was dripping copiously into his mouth, and I could feel my orgasm mounting. Well, why not? It was what we both wanted. I abandoned any attempt to spin it out and just let it come. My hands seized his head and forced his face into my crotch as if I wanted to stifle him. I raised my legs and dangled them over his shoulders, crossing them behind his head and spurring him on with the sharp tips of my heels. Muffled cries of happiness came from deep within me; and I joined them, coming long and loud.

“Oh, that was good!” said Peter, when we had both finished. “I do love it when a girl imprisons me with her legs like that.”

“And spurs you on with her heels?” I asked coyly; then adding more seriously, “I hope I didn’t hurt you!”

“No, that was especially nice. But mainly because I knew how pretty your shoes are and how high and pointed your heels! It was very stimulating to know that I was being spurred on by such lovely shoes and feet even if I couldn’t see them. I’m sorry, that sounds a bit complicated. But I told you I was a real foot fetishist.”

“Well, I think that’s a lovely thing to be. You can make love to my feet any time you like.”

“May I really?” he said, stretching out on the floor and gently stroking my pointed heels.

“But are you sure you wouldn’t like me to make you come?” I asked anxiously. “You were so good to me, and you didn’t get much back …”

“Don’t be silly! I had a wonderful time. Your beautiful pussy … oh, let me kiss it again …”

“Come and sit up here,” I said firmly. “Take your clothes off and let me lie on your lap.”

So we sprawled together naked over the big couch, each petting and stroking the other.

“Tell me about yourself, Yuri-san,” said Peter. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Nearly nineteen.”

“That’s nice. And what do you do – when you’re not being fucked at sex-parties, I mean?”

“I’m an OL, an Office Lady. In the headquarters of an electronics company in Shinagawa.”

“Oh. Is that interesting?”

“No. Not at all. There’s very little work to do, and what there is isn’t interesting.”

“So you just sit around looking pretty in the office uniform?”

“That’s right. There are three of us. We run the office of the Head of Corporate Planning.”

“With a very short skirt?”

“Yes, very very short. The company had the uniform designed like that. All the OLs wear it. But I quite like it.”

“I’m sure you must look delightful.”

“Anyway, it pays the rent, and for food and clothes. I have a tiny apartment in Denenchōfu. I don’t suppose you know where that is?”

“I know. It’s on the Tōkyū Line.”

“Well, yes. My parents both live in Morioka. It’s the capital city of Iwate Prefecture. My father has a senior position in a big local company. I swore once I left I’d never go back there. It’s the dullest place in Japan. There’s nothing to do, and everyone goes to bed by nine.”

I caught him smiling at me.

“Alone,” I added. “So I have to have a job which makes it possible to stay in Tokyo. I was terribly lucky to get this one. The previous girl left in a hurry. Of course the company management proposed a whole list of OLs who had been with the firm a while and deserved a promotion to a Division Head’s office. But our boss didn’t want anyone middle-aged. He wanted someone young and pretty. My father pulled strings with an old college friend in the company and got me an interview. I suppose our boss fancied me. I got the job.”

“Does he still fancy you? What does he do to you?”

“Oh, nothing much. Not in the office, anyway. He’s too cautious. Just looks up my skirt when he gets the chance. I make sure he does get a chance from time to time. As I say, I need the job. Otherwise, he just fondles me at office parties. You know, when everyone gets a bit drunk and what happens is supposed to be completely forgotten the next morning. Anyway, the one he really fancies is Masumi-chan. She’s only just come. She’s the youngest, and rather silly and naïve, but extremely pretty. Shizue-san – she’s the senior girl – and I try to look after her.”

“Hm’m. I’d like to meet Shizue and Masumi.”

I gave his cock a friendly stroking, then reached up and kissed him.

“I guess you fantasise about having three pretty OLs all at once, do you? In their uniforms – to begin with at least? Most men do that.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not! That’s what OLs are for – the young and pretty ones at least – to be fantasised about. And then taken out on dates so the fantasy can become real. Anyway, you’d like Shizue-san. She’s very beautiful and sophisticated, and goes to lots of parties.”

“Does she now? Perhaps I’ve met her … had her, even.”

“Well, she goes mainly to a group of friends that give regular parties. There seem to be rules about what they do … I don’t know. But they must be exciting parties with lots of activity – she’s always so tired the next morning! Masumi and I have to do her work for her. Of course Masumi idolises her. She keeps begging to be invited to one of these parties, but Shizue says she needs more experience.”

“Why don’t you bring Masumi-san along to one of our parties?”

“I told you – she’s extremely pretty. And very young and fresh. I don’t want the competition! No, that’s not fair. It’s a good idea – I’m sure she’d love it. She’s never been to a sex-party. I’m not sure she isn’t even a virgin.”

“It’s so beautiful,” said Peter, getting sentimental in a very gaijin way, “when a girl comes to her first sex-party. Looking so pretty and excited. Perhaps not fully realising that it is a sex-party, and then seeing the other girls going nude and fucking, and wanting so much to join in but not knowing if she’s allowed to …”

“Yes, it would be a lovely way for a girl to lose her virginity. With everyone watching and cheering her on and congratulating her.”

“Oh, if you do bring her, may I be the first to have her?” asked Peter.

“It would be nice to auction her or raffle her, don’t you think? More fun for all of you, and so wonderful for her.”

We were both getting sentimental now, planning a treat for a sweet young girl only one of us had ever seen.

“Yes,” he said, “we did that recently for a first-time beginner. She was just sixteen. An older friend brought her. We made her strip for us, she was very shy at first but became more and more confident as she came to feel how lovely it was to be nude and admired.”

“Yes, that’s the way it always is, I think. I was shy the first time I went nude at a party. But then ... oh, you’re making me all wet, just reminding me …”

“Let me suck you,” he said urgently. “Don’t waste it!”

I scrambled into position and Peter buried his face in my crotch the way we both enjoyed so much.

“That was lovely,” I said with a deep sigh a few minutes later. “You do suck a girl well!”

“It was more than lovely,” he insisted. “It was heavenly. You make the most delicious pussy-juice I’ve ever tasted.”

[Part 2 follows]